


Guilty In Loving In The First Degree

by Swing Set in December (swing_set13)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate universe - Mafia, M/M, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 18:15:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3457022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swing_set13/pseuds/Swing%20Set%20in%20December
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iced coffee and pancakes. A match made in heaven. It's too bad they're on opposite sides of the law.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilty In Loving In The First Degree

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Secret Angels IV 2010 fic exchange. It's a tweaked version of the first prompt left by nox_wicked: _Mafia fic. Dean and Cas are members of rival mob families, and have to sneak around behind the other members backs to be together._
> 
> All the prompts were so different so it was hard to pick one and flow with it. A million hugs to the awesome deadwoodmt for being the best beta ever. Any mistakes are my own because she rocked with beta-ing at the last minute. Seriously, I threw out my first version I wrote...it originally involved Dean being the cop and Castiel being the mafia prince. Maybe I will eventually go back to that... If anyone watched Betsy's Wedding, then you'll see a lot of parallels. If you haven't, WHY HAVEN'T YOU?
> 
> I was completely surprised that I got nox_wicked. Out of all the authors that put their hat in for the fic exchange, I got her! It was so hard keeping that a secret. And I was super worried that she wouldn't like it.

Dean Winchester grew up with the knowledge that his father was a great man. A busy man with less than legal enterprises. And his mother was a fine lady that died in the line of fire. He's been finding his way in the family business, working up through the ranks by playing in the legitimate part of the business, the side Sammy will only touch, and only with a ten-foot pole.

Despite his brother's disapproval, Dean was good at what he did and things are lining up for John to start vetting him to start in the less honorable side of the family business. Though he’d do anything to keep his father happy, he’s starting to notice that is getting harder everyday.

\---

A week later, Dean’s setting up a shell company to launder his father's drug money. A month later, the police still can't trace anything back to his father. Six months later, Dean is sick of the paparazzi and the sycophants that follow him around in hopes to win his favor despite most signs pointing to his father not retiring anytime soon despite Dean's best efforts.

\---

Castiel Novak is a detective for the Detroit Police Department working in Homicide. He is well acquainted with the Winchester family in the same way one might be familiar with celebrities. Their surveillance photos grace one of the many walls of the precinct. Castiel watches the news first thing every morning with a growing feeling of heavy disdain on how the newest media darling in this police SNAFU is Dean Winchester. He can’t fathom how the media can glamorize crime.

\---

Four months later, Castiel’s horrified to discover, that John Winchester is not only squeaky clean with respect to the last drug bust but also appears to be grooming his son for succession.

\---

The caseload for Homicide has been piling up since the last drug bust called every available officer from regular duty. Tonight, Castiel finally has time to look over his own caseload rather than those compiled by the latest undercover stint in the Winchester crime syndicate.

It's refreshing as he looks over his own cold cases Joshua had left him since his previous reading material comprised of a new level of mind-numbing red tape and over fifty candid shots of John, Samuel and Dean Winchester. He goes to bed that night with the depressing knowledge that the Winchesters are untouchable. And it's really not his problem. For all he knows, none of them have been directly implicated in a violent crime. _Yet._

\---

Castiel’s more than willing to put the Winchesters and all the thoughts of organized crime out of his mind until Dean Winchester himself spills iced coffee down the front of his shirt.

It was an aberration in his daily routine when he finds himself stumbling into the nearest Starbucks in search of a decent cup of coffee. It's his own hubris in relying on Anna's coffee rather than buying a coffee machine. But seeing as Anna's on maternity leave, the whole precinct is suffering from Uriel's attempts at mastering the coffee machine in dispatch. He can’t survive today without coffee. Thursdays are never good for him.

A man is coming out of Starbucks fast, not paying any attention to where he’s going, and slams full body into Castiel. In the process, he loses his grip on his drink and Castiel steels himself to be hit with scalding hot coffee but realizes it's a sticky cold feeling. Miraculously, none of it hits his attacker.

At least this means he doesn’t have to subject himself to a once over by the medical examiner before his shift for first-degree burns. Sighing, he hopes his extra shirt in his locker is still there as he'll be less intimidating during interviews covered in coffee.

He realizes the stranger is apologizing and yanking him into the shop quite forcefully, where he grabs a good handful of napkins and gets into Castiel’s personal space without any hesitation. He gracelessly wipes his shirt and tries to rub out the darkening coffee from his trench coat but only ends up spreading it more around. Castiel forces his still half-asleep brain to focus on the words permeating through his skull.

"—sorry man, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. I didn’t mean to spill this shit all over you." As he talks, he continues to touch Castiel, who finally has enough energy to give him a glare and slap the now roaming hands away.

"It’s fine. Just stop touching me."

The man looks and suddenly Castiel realizes he’s staring into the eyes of the mafia’s poster boy himself, Dean Winchester and the main reason he is working on less than five hours of sleep this morning. He pushes him out of his personal space and glares at him in indignation.

"You!"

"Me," Dean Winchester replies calmly, though with a certain amount of curiosity.

"You!" Castiel repeats again, his voice taking on that rumbly pitch that he uses on suspects. Dean Winchester looks amused.

"Yeah, me," he says, tilting his head to the side. "Is this a delayed reaction to me spilling this on you," waving a now empty plastic cup, "because you did just say you were fine—"

"This is not about the coffee!" Castiel growls, attracting the attention of the barista who looks up from her Sudoku with a glare. "This is about your family!"

Dean stares. "I’m sorry?"

"You better be," Castiel grunts, and then, finding nothing else to say, deflates a bit into his now soggy coat. It’s his favorite one.

The man stares at him in a perplexed manner for a moment then shakes his head and laughs. It's a deep throaty laugh that has Castiel fighting the urge to punch him. What holds him back is the idea of his lieutenant bumping him back down to traffic control. Zachariah has had it in for him for the past month.

"Do I know you?" he asks squinting as if he’s trying to place him in his mind. Castiel glowers.

"No." He then turns toward the barista who hastily tries to pretend she wasn't eavesdropping.

"Right," the man says agreeably, but doesn’t leave, if possible he crowds more into Castiel's personal space. "How about I buy your coffee for you? It’s the least I can do after spilling mine all over your shirt."

"That is unnecessary," Castiel replies in a deadpan monotone. He shouldn't even be talking to him. Vice will have him by the balls if he's somehow jeopardized any of their ops. For all he knows, they were under surveillance right now. Dean just smirks.

"Well, you seem to know me and I don’t even know your name," he starts, giving him a more through once over. Castiel's ears do not turn red. Not red at all. Dean Winchester looks too pleased as he drags Castiel towards the register.

"It’s Dean. Dean Winchester." Castiel is still not firing at full cylinders to dignify that with a response. He cocks his head to the side and orders his coffee. He realizes Dean is watching him intently and sends him a glare.

"May I help you?" he deadpans. Though Dean just frowns at him, seemingly unaffected, and pays the barista with a twenty without asking for change.

"You know, the polite thing to do is to give their name after being told someone else’s," he says as he follows Castiel and watches Castiel simultaneously add three packets of sugar and some creamer to his coffee.

"It is my understanding that the polite thing to do is not to accost strangers with iced beverages, but I suppose that is open to interpretation." Castiel takes a sip of the coffee. It is nowhere near the same quality of Anna’s, which was akin to ambrosia of the Gods. He'd curse Anna but it would be poor taste seeing as he is going to be the godfather.

"If you don’t give me your name I’ll have to give you one." He cocks his head at Castiel, seeming to consider it in depth.

Deciding that this has gone on long enough and he already deals with Gabriel’s constant slew of new nicknames (the latest being comic book related), Castiel caps his coffee and with practiced ease, he flashes his badge, "I am Detective Castiel Novak of the Detroit Police Department."

There’s an awkward pause, as Dean seems bewildered at the turn of events before Castiel leaves in a swirl of his still wet trench coat. He's at the door when Dean stops him.

"My number," Dean says as he stuffs a napkin with a hastily scrawled line of digits on it into his hand. Castiel stares, and then cocks his head. It is way too early for this.

"What would I do with this?" he inquires, he's pretty sure it’s the same one tacked to the bullpen’s corkboard.

"Some people use this thing called a phone, you know," Dean says grinning. "Talk to you soon, Cas."

Firmly clapping him on the shoulder, he leaves Castiel standing in the doorway. The assured tone he uses makes Castiel causes his lips to twitch upwards into an almost smile. He slips the napkin into his pocket as he heads into the precinct. Perhaps Vice didn’t have his new number. It was worth keeping.

\---

Eight hours later, he’s already canvassed two neighborhoods to try to narrow the suspects in his newest murder case, a five-year-old girl. He hates it when his cases involve children. The coffee from this morning has already worn off, and he’s about ready to grab another and sit down to a night of paperwork at home, depending on the amount of files he can take with him without Joshua noticing.

Gabriel bounces into the pit with enough energy to make Castiel envious. "Bro, you look like you’ve been through the ringer. Seriously, when did you last eat? Chocolate frog?"

Castiel pushes the offered chocolate out of his face and tries to remember that his partner has his best interest at heart, but unlike Gabriel, he can’t run on what the precinct has to offer in their vending machines.

"I will pass. I was just going to step out," he says getting up, grabbing his coat. The coffee has dried pretty well. It’s barely noticeable.

"Pick me up some General Tao, would ya?"

Castiel rolls his eyes. At least he’ll have an accomplice in smuggling out case files.

\---

The sun has already set on the city causing the shadows outside the precinct to take on a sinister air. Unperturbed, Castiel continues to his car parked in the police lot. There is very little foot traffic outside the precinct at this hour, and such that it is easy to hear that he’s not alone. The pace of the stranger is matching his as he turns the corner. Subtly taking his sidearm he turns around.

"Police, hands in the air!"

"You’re not an easy man to find, Cas," the shadow says.

"I am armed," he repeats nudging his gun barrel towards the streetlight. The footsteps head towards the dim light and reveal Dean Winchester, once again, with his hands in the air.

"You didn’t call," he says, with a smirk on his face. It looks like a permanent fixture.

"It has been a busy day," Castiel replies, his gun not wavering.

"Give a guy your number and he doesn’t call. Can give a lesser man a complex."

"I see you still remain immune," Castiel says dryly.

"Well, I’m special that way. You mind pointing that somewhere else? I think I’m developing a whole new complex," he grins almost lecherously. Castiel is thankful for being at the edge of the halo of light the street lamp provides. Sighing he holsters his weapon, Dean Winchester would have to be stupid to try something at the police’s doorstep.

"Better?" he asks. "What can the Detroit police do for you, Winchester?"

"So formal, Cas! I’d say we’re past that."

Castiel would like nothing more to erase this entire day from his memory. The canvassing and crime scene has left a pit in his stomach that seems deepen even more as the day stretches on.

"I found myself wondering what kind of food to bring in to wave the white flag of surrender. By the looks of you, you don’t seem to have that much of a sweet tooth. But appearances can be deceiving. I for one would do pretty much anything for a piece of pie. Not to picky about what kind, though nothing beats warm appl–"

"Pancakes," Castiel blurts out. The noise of the city seems to fade out as Dean gives a genuine smile.

"Huh," Dean pauses. "I can do pancakes."

Castiel’s eyes are drawn to Dean’s mouth and he briefly flashes to a pleasant scene involving lazy mornings and breakfast in bed before it snaps back to that five-year-old girl and all the reasons why this wouldn’t work. Shaking himself, he breaks Dean’s gaze.

"This won’t work."

"Kinda harsh on yourself. I mean I know I am a bit rusty but–" Dean starts.

"I am a police officer and you are –"

"I am what?" Dean asks suddenly inside Castiel’s personal space.

"You are not." He huffs in self-deprecation. It took all his restraint to pull back. Dean was frowning but not stopping him.

"Have a good evening, sir," Castiel says before disappearing into the night, fighting the urge to look back.

\---

It’s been a month and Castiel, with the help of Gabriel, closed the case on the murders of four little girls. The serial killer known as Alistair wouldn't be prowling the streets anytime soon. Gabriel is thankful it’s over mainly since his partner had been working like a man possessed. It’s not ordinary especially since Gabriel is used to Castiel taking his job above and beyond the call of duty. Gabriel can’t put his finger on the change but knows it began the same day Castiel came in with coffee dripping from his coat.

He’s decided to ply Castiel with some hard liquor to get him to spill his guts. It’s Friday, so it shouldn’t be that hard to trick Castiel into coming for a drink. Castiel is still at his desk finishing off his paperwork like a diligent upstanding officer while Gabriel’s towers menacingly on his own desk untouched.

Dragging Castiel by the chair, he heads to the exit. "Gabriel, I was not done."

"Oh come on, pretty boy. All work and no play, make Castiel a very dull boy indeed," Gabriel grins. "Drinks are on me."

Sighing Castiel gives up on resisting Gabriel and lets his chair be dragged to the door. Gabriel desperately needs to find out what’s wrong now. This behavior is so un-Novak-like, it’s eerie.

Passing the bullpen, they see a crowd surrounding one of the many TVs.

"Yo, Mike. What’s the news?" Gabriel asks, slinging his arm over his coworker much to their dismay.

"It’s a media circus. Winchester’s up and decided to quit the family business," Michael says.

"Thought he already had, became an environmental lawyer," Gabriel replies.

"The other one. Shit storm is that he decided to become a cop. It’s the end of the fuckin’ world," mutters Michael.

Gabriel can’t decide if it’s April fool’s or the department’s way of getting back at him for pranking them last year. Looking over to his partner, he sees him staring at the screen like it’s Christmas.

This has to be a joke.

"I am sorry Gabriel, I remembered I have plans tonight," Castiel says with a wiry grin.

"Plans?" Gabriel thinks this joke has gone on far enough. Castiel never has plans.

"I was promised pancakes."

\---

_End._


End file.
